


Kissed by Halla

by Kharti



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Eventual Romance, Fish out of Water, M/M, Sexual Discovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharti/pseuds/Kharti
Summary: As the halla keeper of the Sabrae clan, Dhavihal spent his days among the clover and the moss with his adopted mother, who gave him the love that his own mother had withheld.  He was content in spite of being abandoned at birth, however, because Asvhalla had accepted him with an open heart.  So long as he drew breath, he would protect her from any and all harm.But as with all would-be heroes who thought themselves ordinary people, one fateful day would change that forever.





	1. Origin

In the stillness of the forest, beneath the sun-kissed canopy of trees that had seen empires rise and fall, a babe's cry tore through the silence.

"It's a boy," Ashalle said in a near whisper. Her breath was taken by the newborn she held in her arms as she gazed fondly down at him. "And healthy, praise Sylaise."

The little screaming boy was flush with life, red and fat and _loud_. With a shock of black hair atop his head, Ashalle already knew he would be the spitting image of his father—and that, for a moment, tainted her joy with mourning.

She lifted her gaze to the weary mother who laid on the bank of the river, legs still submerged in the cold water. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, auburn tresses clinging to her pale cheeks.

Ashalle watched as Ladahlen looked at her own flesh and blood with hollow eyes. "Ladah?" She held out the crying babe. "Look, your son."

Shadows filled in the nooks and crannies of Ladahlen's high cheekbones and narrow chin. "I see him." Her voice was almost foreign to Ashalle's ears. "I see Eolaselan in him."

"Eolaselan lives on through him," Ashalle said, her mouth going dry as she choked back tears. "He'll be with us always."

Ladahlen struggled to rise to her feet, stumbling back and bracing herself against a tree, and stared down at the mud and grass beneath her. "No." She shook her head. "He's gone. He's dead. How am I supposed to carry on?"

Ashalle stood from her kneeling position and held the newborn to her chest. She rocked him gently, soothing his cries for the moment. "What do you mean? Ladah, you carry on for your son!"

A strangled sob wracked Ladahlen's weary form and she clung to the tree to keep from falling to her knees. "But what if he always looks like him? Every day, looking into the face of my dead _a'lath_?"

Her feet shifted, unsteady with exhaustion but trained from years avoiding rabbit holes and slick mud while on the hunt. Ashalle's eyes widened as she watched her dear friend step away.

"Ladah! Please, don't do this," she begged, though in her heart she knew the decision had already been made. Trembling overtook her and she bowed her head to gaze down at the babe in her arms. "At least give him a name. You owe him that much."

Ladahlen shook her head, the vallaslin on her face becoming shrouded in the shadows cast by the trees she receded into. "No. No, I don't want to know his name. I'm sorry, Ashalle."

The forest grew quiet as Ladahlen's uneven footsteps faded into the sound of distant birds and the babbling stream. Ashalle stood at the river bank, her chest tight with confusion, grief—and as the newborn began to cry once more, pity.

"You poor dear," she cooed, holding the child closer and stroking his wisps of black hair. Tears fell down her cheeks, but she smiled and almost laughed when he started to knead at her breast. "Oh, are you hungry? Of course you are. I'm sorry, but there's nothing there for you, dear." 

His chubby little hands paused at the sound of her voice and he looked up at her with deep green eyes that seemed to understand. They glossed over with tears and his lips parted to release another full-lunged cry.

"Shh, shh. Don't worry. We have two mothers at the clan, I am sure one will have what you need." She kissed the top of his head before she turned and waded through the stream to return to camp.

The whole clan stood at the edge of the aravels, eagerness clear on their faces even at a distance. Ashalle's heart soared as her kinfolk ran forward to greet the new member with whoops of joy and adoration.

His eyes were wide as he gawked up at the sudden barrage of faces, voices, and hands that entered his little world. When he started to tremble, Ashalle rocked him gently to soothe his fear, but he began crying nonetheless.

The crowd of elves parted to make way for Keeper Marethari, whose eyes were looking past Ashalle. "Where is Ladahlen?"

Everyone fell silent, save for the babe. His cries seemed all the more heartbreaking when set against the backdrop of concern and worry in the air.

Ashalle bowed her head and murmured, "She is no longer with us."

Keeper Marethari sighed, shaking her head. "Poor Ladahlen. Poor child. Rasanor, please go retrieve her body so that we may—"

"There is no body," Ashalle interrupted, and all went still. "She is no longer with us because she—she left." Her throat threatened to strangle her words as she struggled to give them voice. "She abandoned him."

The Keeper narrowed her eyes. All the suspicion and distrust for Ladah that had faded with time since Eolas had brought her into the clan–all that and more showed in the Keeper's creased brow.

"What name did she give him?" the Keeper asked in a low voice, her gaze falling to the whimpering babe.

Ashalle clenched her eyes shut. Love for her friend was overwhelmed with guilt and shame for not stopping her. "He has none," she finally admitted.

Whispers circled her kin, the same questions she was asking herself. How could Ladah do this? Why? What would happen to her son? Who would care for him?

With her head held high and a kind smile on her face, Halveri stepped forward from the others. Her son was cradled to her chest in a wrap slung across her front, curious crystal blue eyes peering out over the hem of the cloth.

"I will raise him as my own." Halveri gently took the babe from a guiltily reluctant Ashalle and held him to face her own. "Look, Tamlen. Say hello."

Everyone watched with adoring eyes as Tamlen reached out a chubby little hand toward the new face, but the gesture was met with fearful recoil. His lips curled into a pout as he pulled his hand back into the safety of the wrap and looked up at his mother for guidance.

Concerned whispers circled the clan, but none spoke up.

Halveri laughed softly, almost mournfully. "Oh, don't make such a face. He will warm to you."

"Ah." Ashalle's face softened as she put her hand to her breast, the phantom sensation of the hungry knead throbbing against her skin. "He has not yet fed."

"Then we must remedy that." Halveri shifted to expose one breast, clucking her tongue at Tamlen's greedy hands. "Not for you, _da'len_. This is for your new brother."

However, when she brought the babe near to her, he cried out and pushed his hands against her exposed flesh, turning his head away. Halveri blinked in surprise and tried once more, but to no avail. "Come, now, you must be starved. Don't be shy."

It was no use. The more she tried to get him to feed, the louder he cried until a baleful sound filled the air from across the camp. Heads turned and elves jumped in surprise as the matron of their halla herd bounded toward them, sunlight reflecting off her pristine white coat as if she were a specter.

"Ho there!" Maren, the halla's keeper, stepped forward and spread her arms out wide. "Calm, calm!"

The matron ignored her keeper, pacing from side to side in an attempt to get past her and to the babe Halveri clutched protectively to her chest.

Keeper Marethari watched with a thoughtful expression, then raised a hand to touch Maren's shoulder. "Let her pass."

Maren shook her head. "Something's wrong. She's agitated. I'm worried she might—"

"Let her pass," Marethari repeated, voice stern this time.

All watched as Maren reluctantly stepped aside, and the matron halla moved close enough to press her nose to the babe's head. She huffed, her sudden breath tickling across his skin and stirring his cries into giggles.

"What is she doing?" Ashalle asked, her gaze flickering between the scene and Maren.

Maren's brow furrowed and she took a tentative step forward to put her hand to the halla's side. "I believe—" She paused, studying a moment longer before she started again, "I believe she has marked the child as her own."

There was stillness among the elves as the child giggled, reaching for the halla and clapping his little hands to her nose. The matron responded with a sound much like a joyful chime in her throat.

Keeper Marethari broke the tension with a laugh. "It seems they've marked each other."

Maren shot the Keeper a confused look, still running her hand along the halla's coat. "We can't give an elven child to a halla!"

"And why not?" Marethari brushed a hand against her cheek to push a wisp of greying hair out of her face that was brightened by a smile. "The matron birthed a fawn within this moon. She still produces milk, and she has made her intentions clear. We will, of course, raise him as an elf, but if he rejects Halveri's breast, then I say we give him to the halla."

And so, with Halveri's reluctance and Maren's uncertainty, the babe was settled onto the matron halla's back. Maren led the two back to the safety of the fence, where the clan watched as the halla gently lowered herself onto a patch of clovers.

The matron, with careful movements and reassuring grunts, used her snout to nudge the child onto the ground and guided him to her stomach. With surprising ease, he latched on and kneaded with both hands, suckling with a ravenous hunger while his new mother licked his hair into loving tufts.

Ashalle watched the peculiar scene with a warmth spreading in her chest. "Dhavihal," she said in a soft voice. "His name is Dhavihal."


	2. Blood

While the other elves his age learned to be hunters and how to survive in the wilds, Dhavihal perfected the art of daisy chains while lazing about on a bed of clover next to his mother, Asvhalla.

The matron halla seemed content to watch his deft fingers weave the stems she ordinarily would have preferred to eat. Other elves made simple necklaces with the long stems exposed; Dhavi effortlessly wove the flowers so close together that there didn't appear to be stems at all.

A cool breeze drifted over them, stirring the tall blades of grass and the curly black tresses that fell to his shoulders. He smiled at the sensation of the air tickling his pointed ears and, into the wind, he sang,

" _The moonlight fades from flower and tree,_  
_And the stars dim one by one;_  
_The tale is told, the song is sung,_  
_And the Dalish feast is done._ "

Asvhalla shifted beside him and he glanced over to study her expression. Her ears were angled toward him, but not standing tall and alert, instead calm and curious.

He smiled and returned his attention to the daisy chain in progress, continuing the song.

" _The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,_  
_And sings to them, soft and low._  
_The early birds erelong will wake:_  
_'Tis time for the Elves to go._ "

Dhavi finished the last loop to hook the chain's ends together and held up his floral craft. "There, what do you think, Mamae?"

With a soft huff of breath through her nostrils, Ashvalla tilted her head to one side, eyeing the daisies from one angle, then another. Her gaze flickered to him and her ears swiveled atop her head.

"Yes, I know it looks small. But it's not for me." He reached out and set it between her spiraled antlers, then beamed. " _Now_ what do you think?"

There was a small, almost excited wiggle of her ears. Her head tilted back as she tried to look up at it, the whites of her eyes briefly exposed in the attempt. She returned her gaze to him and she leaned in to lick his cheek.

Laughing, Dhavi bumped his nose to hers. "You're welcome." He leaned in against her side, his head resting on the back of her neck, his eyes on the white daisies that seemed dull against her perfect coat.

A high-pitched cry interrupted the moment as a young halla bounded toward him, butting her head against his chest. He responded with laughter and by clasping his hands to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Hallain! Are you jealous?" He grinned and kneaded his fingers into her soft coat while her dark brown eyes glowered up at him. "Oh, yes, I know you don't like that name. But you'll always be a fawn to me."

Hallain snorted and bumped her forehead to his chest again while Asvhalla watched her children—one by blood and the other by choice, but both well-adored—with mild amusement.

Dhavi's grin only widened. "Yes, okay, I'll come play with you. I just wanted to relax with Mamae a while."

When she bounded backwards to make room for him to stand, he rose to his full height—which didn't seem very much with Hallain standing in front of him. Though they were of the same years, she had grown so fast while he still had much more to go.

And she enjoyed this fact immensely, dropping her head to punctuate the difference between them.

"Dhavihal!" Maren called from where she stood at the fence, her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare be thinking about sneaking off into the woods with your sister again."

Dhavi looked at the red-headed elf with the most innocent eyes he could muster, Hallain following suit. "We wouldn't go far!"

The combined stares had no effect on Maren. Or if they did, she was exceptionally good at hiding it. "Anywhere outside of the camp boundaries is too far by yourself until you've earned your vallaslin."

"But I wouldn't be by myself," Dhavi said with a pout of his lower lip. "Hallain would be with me."

"Oh, as if that eases my mind as her keeper!" Maren's hand fluttered to her forehead with an exaggerated flourish and she sighed. "What would either of you do if you ran into trouble, hmm? You skip all of your lessons to play here. Do you know which end of a dagger you hold and which you stab? Do you even _own_ a dagger?"

Dhavi's chest swelled with a childish sense of pride as he reached into his leather tunic and pulled out his little whittling knife. "Of course I do!"

The annoyance on Maren's expression was briefly washed away by disbelief before she laughed. "That? You would defend yourself with _that_? Da'len, that could no more slay a wolf than tickle it before it ate you and your sister."

And just like that, Dhavi deflated, his gaze falling to the knife that seemed ill-fit in his hand that had been playing with flowers just moments before. His mouth screwed up into a scowl as he tucked the knife away and muttered, "Wolves never come this close to camp, anyway..."

Behind him, Asvhalla made a low rumbling in her throat to draw his attention. She was still lying on her bed of clover, but her head was turned away, looking out into the woods. Her ears swiveled to face him, then perked forward, and she bobbed her nose into the air.

Run for it, she seemed to say, and neither of her children hesitated a moment longer.

Dhavi sprung onto Hallain's back and she pivoted on her hindlegs to break into a sprint.

"Hey!" Maren practically shrieked. "Dhavihal!"

It was too late. His laughter was all that he left behind as Hallain cleared the fence in a single bound and took off into the woods. He held onto her antlers to keep his balance as she wove between the trees, hooves barely touching the ground.

The sound of Maren's cries faded away and Hallain slowed to a light trot as the song of the forest filled in around them. It was their favorite spot: a wide ditch where an old tree had fallen over to create a makeshift bridge. When his sister came to a stop, Dhavi climbed down and made his way over to the trunk.

"What shall we do today?"

Hallain hummed while she walked a small, thoughtful circle, each hoof falling with the faintest _clip, clip, clip_. Finally, she looked at him, ears perked and eyes glittering. Even her little tail wagged with excitement.

Dhavi groaned. "But you _always_ want to play the princess." He climbed up onto the log and stood with one foot in front of the other to walk across it, arms out to the sides. "What if I want to be the prince?"

She responded only with an amused chuffle.

"Princes can get captured and need rescuing, too." He glared at her over his shoulder, then sighed and turned back around. "Fine. But only because you—"

Both of them froze at the sound of leaves being crushed under foot. Hallain's ears swiveled and her nose raised into the air. As she sniffed, a sound of alarm whimpered in her throat.

Fear ran his blood cold as he crouched low on the fallen tree. "What is it?" he whispered.

Hallain whimpered again and took a step back, her nostrils flaring with every rapid breath she took in and out.

Something whistled through the air, just past Dhavi's head, and Hallain cried out in pain. Red stained her white coat around an arrow that bit deep into her chest.

_Shemlen._

Dhavi yelled something incoherent even to himself as he nearly fell off the tree in his frantic hurry to get to her before she collapsed. Her legs twitched in erratic spasms; her head thrashed against the ground; her eyes rolled back.

"Hallain, no, Hallain—" Dhavi grabbed her head by the cheeks. "Hallain!"

She went still.

Footsteps drew near, crushing leaves and snapping twigs. "Perfect shot, Jereth," a gruff voice said. "Right through the heart."

Tears hotter than the sun that made it through the trees above ran down Dhavi's cheeks as he looked up at two human hunters that stopped to look down at him.

Words were trapped in between the sob that strangled his throat. He could only stare up at the faces marred by scars, at the unfeeling eyes that were cast in shadows.

"That's our quarry," the second hunter said, thumb running along the blade of his dagger. "Get lost, knife-ear."

The world became distant. For a moment, Dhavi was certain that his vision was filled with a blinding white light that he could only describe as _rage_.

A sound so foreign to him tore from his throat and he lunged to his feet and at the nearest hunter. No thought passed through his mind; no plan, no understanding of what to do. His hands found the human's face and he dug his nails into the cheeks.

Something cut his arm; the dagger? He didn't see. He didn't care. The hunter's hands flailed against him, trying to push him away, but a newfound strength gripped his untrained body. All he could do was claw and tear, scream and cry.

When he felt a searing pain in his side, he grabbed at it. He clawed at the hand that gripped the dagger's hilt and screamed again, the action pulling the stabbing pain further into his ribs. Once he found something to hold onto, he tugged the dagger out and swung wildly, aimlessly... successfully.

The heat coursing through his veins suddenly receded, and Dhavi found himself standing alone in the forest.

Blood.

He was covered in blood.

His head throbbed and his heart pounded as he looked down at his hands to see more blood, the most of it on the dagger he gripped so tightly that his knuckles were bone white.

Two figures came into focus past his hands, lying on the ground. Anger coiled within the embers that still glowed in his chest. The blood on him was much more theirs than his, judging by the deep gashes across their faces and arms.

He had killed them.

The dagger fell from his loosened grip and he tore his gaze away from them to see Hallain's still, lifeless form.

"Hallain," he gasped out in a voice as raw as his sore throat. "Please, no, no."

Dhavi knelt beside her and ran a trembling hand along her side.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered before a sob overtook him and he doubled over in pain from the wound on his side he had forgotten.

It was all he could do to keep upright when a wave of lightheaded dizziness swept across him. Perhaps more of the blood had been his than he thought.

Which direction was home? How far away was it? He couldn't remember. Everything was wrapped in a haze. He threw his head back and cried out, hoping—praying someone would hear him.

The forest responded with its quiet song. It didn't care. So much happened under its watch over so many centuries that it would go mad if it tried to save every creature that lived within it.

Dhavi cried out again and slumped over as the strength left him. He didn't want to die. Was it selfish? He deserved to die with his sister for letting this happen to her, but he was still scared of death.

There was a thundering of hooves and a mournful shriek that he recognized as his mother's voice. He rolled over onto his back to gaze with blurry vision at the matron halla and the elves that followed after her.

He could hear their voices, but they sounded so distant. His eyelids drooped and, as everything went black, he felt Asvhalla's cold nose to his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.


	3. Clover

The day was the same as the one before it, and likely would mirror the one to come. While the hunters scouted the woods around their camp to ensure no shemlen wandered too close, Dhavihal remained behind to watch over the halla herd.

He closed his eyes and breathed in. The air was growing stagnant; they would need to pack up the aravels and move soon. If they stayed in one place too long, they might dare to call it *home*.

A small, soft sound came from nearby and he opened his eyes to see Asvhalla stepping toward him, a bundle of daisies held delicately between her teeth.

"What?" He glanced between her eyes and the flowers. "I don't eat that stuff."

She nudged his hand that gripped the wooden, gnarled crook.

He frowned and shifted the crook to his other hand so that he could stroke her nose, but she pulled her head away from his touch. "What do you want?"

When she tried to press the flowers to his palm, a sigh dragged out of him.

"I don't have time for that, Mamae." His hand tilted to let them fall to the ground, gripped his crook in both hands, and returned his gaze to the forest. "I have to remain vigilant."

Asvhalla's ears folded back as she pawed at the discarded flowers, then gave a sound of resignation and returned to the other halla. He watched her go with a pang of regret; oh, how he missed the days that were dappled with laughter and joy.

But they were gone, left behind in his childhood. He was grown now, his face marked to prove he had come of age. One hand lifted to trace the dark vallaslin that twisted over his skin in ornate spirals like his mother's antlers.

His mind snapped back to his duty and he straightened up. The halla were safe within the fence, but a shem's arrow wouldn't be stopped by some planks of wood. A shudder ran through him and he started to pace the perimeter of the pen to work out the nerves that bubbled up from his stomach.

"Lethal'lin!" a voice called, and Dhavi's head snapped to the side to see Tamlen leaning against a tree. "What has you pacing like an expectant halla?"

Dhavi was grateful he didn't have his mother's emotive ears, otherwise his annoyance would have been all too clear. "Nothing."

Tamlen laughed effortlessly as he walked over without a care in the world. He was so easy-going that it seemed to Dhavi that he took nothing seriously at all.

Of course, he knew that wasn't true. Tamlen was an experienced hunter who knew the woods better than Dhavi knew the halla—and he knew his mother's kind *very* well.

"You are always so tense," Tamlen said while he propped himself against the fence, arms crossed over one another. "Why don't you join me on a hunt? It will take your mind off your worries."

"I highly doubt that." Dhavi ran a hand through the wild mane he called his hair, frowning when he found a twig nestled in the black tresses. "You know I hate hunting."

Tamlen opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and hummed instead. After a moment that held them in tense silence, he pushed off the fence to stand upright, one hand on the back of his neck and a lopsided grin on his face. "All right. Well, then, I'll just be on my way."

The only response Dhavi gave was a nod and a mutter of some platitude to wish him good hunting. Tamlen was by no means unpopular or unliked in the clan, and yet he made constant attempts to be close kin with Dhavi.

Asvhalla stood nearby, her eyes on him. She wished he would spend more time with the other elves, to be social and friendly. He wished she would stop nagging him.

"Dhavi?"

And speaking of nagging, there was Ashalle right on cue. As he turned to look at the older elf, he idly wondered—was she actually his birth mother? She always fretted over him as if she were, but never told him the truth when he asked about his parents.

But what use did he have for the truth? His real mother was across the way, safely in the fence, resting on a bed of clover.

She was the only family he had now, and the only one he needed.

With a resigned smile, he gave a respectful bow of his head to the elven woman. "What is it, Ashalle?"

Ashalle stopped a few paces away from him, wringing her hands. "You have been of age for quite some time now."

Though she only stated a fact, the ulterior motive lurking behind her words sent his nerves on edge. "Yes."

"It is time—past time, in fact." She sucked in a nervous breath. "Time that you took a wife."

She expected him to get angry, to snarl and possibly even to throw a tantrum. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Steeling his resolve to keep his expression even, he simply replied, "I see."

Her eyes widened in brief surprise. "You do?"

Dhavi turned his gaze away from her to look at the halla herd and bobbed his head in a nod. "It's my duty to the clan."

They were empty words, but they brought relief to her face and voice as she let out a sigh.

"I'm glad to hear that, Dhavihal." She reached out and brushed her fingertips against his forearm. "I just want you to be happy, but some things—"

"It's fine," he interrupted, patience starting to slip. "Is there anything else?"

Ashalle's hand recoiled as if he had bit her. Perhaps, in a way, he had, and he felt a moment of uncertainty. If she was his true mother, then was it right of him to treat her this way?

"No, there's nothing else."

Dhavi nodded and pivoted on his heel to face away from her and the camp, looking out into the vast woods. "Could you tell Marren that I'm handing the shift over to her early?"

He didn't wait for Ashalle to respond and started to walk forward, away from home. From across the way, he felt Asvhalla's gaze focus on him. She always knew what he was feeling, and he heard a soft, plaintive whimper amidst the other quiet sounds of camp life.

Sparing a small flash of a smile her way, he slipped between the trees and allowed memory to guide him. It had been quite some time since they had been in this part of the Brecillian woods, but he knew the way. He would never forget the way.

The forest had changed: new saplings grew from the underbrush seeking the sun's rays and old trees had become logs that fertilized the growth. Nothing ever stayed the same when everything was alive.

Soon, he recognized his surroundings, how the dry river bed wound through the landscape and the large fallen tree that was starting to sag in the middle. His feet stopped moving as memories flashed through his mind.

_"Fair maiden! A curse I place upon thee, until a buck so brave and strong will come to thy aid!"_

_A soft laugh rumbled in Hallain's throat as Dhavi's face screwed up and he tossed his stick on the ground._

_"Aw, Hallain, come on! This is silly. Why do I always have to be the villain?"_

_She raised her head to indicate the crown of flowers resting between her ears._

Dhavi rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. His gaze darted about as he searched for it and, when he spotted what he was after, his heart sunk.

A young sapling rested with heavy leaves that were still unfurling, too lazy to greet the day that was already past halfway over. Dhavi walked closer to inspect it, though he wasn't versed in flora and all plants looked more or less the same to him.

The little stem that would some day be a mighty trunk seemed sturdy enough, and none of the leaves had any brown spots on them. It was all he knew to look for, but the sight of it satisfied him that she was healthy.

"Hello, Hallain," Dhavi whispered as he knelt down by the sapling that had been planted with her ashes.

There was a long, painful silence. Perhaps a part of him had hoped to hear her laughter again, or even just the little sound she'd make in the back of her throat when she was trying to hide her joy.

"I'm sorry it's been so long since I visited you, but I know you understand. We move too much."

A lump formed in his throat and he struggled to swallow around it. Lying to her wasn't right, even if she couldn't hear him.

"Except we've been here quite some time," he admitted with a low bow of his head in apology. "I'm not brave like you. I was only able to find courage with you at my side. The idea of facing you has terrified me."

He sucked in a breath and raised his head to look at her sapling once more, reaching out a hand to gently touch one of the dark green leaves.

"Mamae is well. She worries and frets more since you left, and I wish I wouldn't get so frustrated with her about it."

With a sigh, his hand dropped back to his side and he tried not to frown, not in front of her.

"It's time for me to wed, apparently." The words came out more bitter than he wanted them to sound, so he tried to soften them with a smile. "I will try for a daughter, and name her after you. That will ensure she will be a handful, won't it? I'd hate to have a boring child."

He bit back a laugh and shook his head as he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"Listen to me. I don't even have a wife, and I'm talking about children. I never gave it much thought. Do I even want children? I don't know. It's the natural way of things, I suppose."

And just like that, the pain came back in full force and he struggled to keep his voice even.

"Natural. Natural to have a wife and children. But apparently it's not natural to keep my sister. No, that's too much to ask of the world, isn't it?"

His breathing grew ragged and he clenched his eyes shut.

"It's not fair. You were so young. I was so young! How could this happen to us? Why?"

Of course, there was no reply. He had hoped for one, but he thought himself a rational man and knew better than to pine for what he couldn't have.

She was gone. She would stay gone, even if he gave in to the urge in the back of his mind and pleaded for otherwise.

Just as he felt himself spiral into hatred for the shemlen that took her from him and hatred at himself for not being able to protect her, a wind blew through the trees. The leaves above began to rustle like soft chuffling and the breeze tickled his ears the way Hallain would when she nipped at them.

"Hallain?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

There was no reply beyond the continued breeze that brushed against his cheeks. Tears sprung fresh to his eyes and he reached out to feel the wind on his fingers, a smile on his face.

Perhaps it was too much to hope for, but he wanted to believe, at least for that moment, that it was her. That she was there, trying to console him before he broke down completely.

And it made him miss her all the more.


	4. Darkness

There was an ill wind in the air. The halla sensed it first, and Dhavihal felt it from the way the herd shifted on their hooves and glanced about.

He paused his idle whittling to look into the dark of the woods where the trees blended in with shadows. Nothing moved beyond the usual squirrel or falling leaf; in fact, it all seemed ordinary.

Asvhalla released a whining breath and moved closer to him, as if to shield him from danger.

"What is it?" Dhavi murmured, running the palm of his hand along her side.

Her muscles, already tense, twitched at his touch and she flinched away to return to the herd.

Before Dhavi could decide what to do, he heard hurried footsteps approaching and turned to face Keeper Marethari and her apprentice, Merrill.

"Aneth ara," the Keeper said, raising a hand when Dhavi tried to climb over the fence to her. "Have you seen Tamlen?"

"Tamlen?" Dhavi repeated with a curious furrow of his brow. "Now that you ask, no. He asked me to go hunting with him yesterday and I haven't seen him since he left."

Marethari pressed her lips into a thin, worried line. "No one has seen him since then, either. This is unlike him." She sighed and shook her head. "This is why we do not hunt alone."

A quick pang of guilt and offense shot through Dhavi's chest and he clenched his fist around his whittling knife. "I didn't—"

Something he had never heard before tore through the camp.

A blood-curdling scream.

Dhavi's head whipped to the side just in time to watch as one of his clansmen was struck down by something truly awful.

It was some manner of creature, dark and hunched, sickly skin glistening with some kind of black ooze from an arrow shaft jutting out of its shoulder. The long and jagged sword in its grasp ran the elf through before the creature lifted a foot and kicked the limp body off its blade.

Elves were running to fight off the invader—invader _s_ , Dhavi realized as he stood there, frozen in terror. The camp was under attack and he was powerless to do anything, armed only with a whittling knife that trembled in his hand.

Dhavi had never learned how to fight, not beyond what a bow was and more or less how it shot an arrow. He had shirked those lessons in order to play with the halla. All he could do was watch as three more of the rotting creatures clamored out of the woods, strangled and beastly war cries slicing through the air.

A shriek tore his attention over to the halla as they pressed against one another in terror. His mother placed herself between one of the charging creatures and her herd, brave despite the odds.

The odds that were heavily not in her favor.

Dhavi's heart gave a wild thump to push hot blood through his veins and he went into motion faster than he could think. He tackled the creature to the ground, its blade skittering across the grass just out of reach.

Its neck cracked with a sickening sound as it wrenched its head to the side to look up at him. Hollow, empty eyes set in sunken sockets bore into him before its maw opened, revealing uneven teeth and a foul stench that sent bile up into Dhavi's throat.

He tried to grab onto something, anything to pin it to the ground, but the hulking mass of twisted flesh pushed him off with ease. One of its clawed hands raked across his front, tearing the cloth and cutting five deep gashes into his chest.

Dhavi winced as he hit the ground, but he had no time to waste. It was unarmed. Where was that sword? His gaze darted to the side and he grabbed its hilt in both hands. It must have weighed as much as he did; it certainly felt as tall as him when he hefted it up into the air.

The creature eyed him, warily at first, then recognized the uneasiness with which Dhavi handled the blade and it gave a hissing, sinister chuckle.

It knew he didn't stand a chance, and that sent the chill of fear down his spine.

Gnarled, clawed hands reached for him and he smacked the flat of the blade against them, nearly losing his balance entirely from the bobbing weight. When he tried to swing and slash, he couldn't quite get the momentum going and he felt himself toppling backwards.

He was going down, and the creature seized the opportunity to lunge. Dhavi clenched his eyes shut for an impact that never came; he hit the ground, but nothing fell on top of him.

When his eyes opened, he saw Asvhalla engaging it, distracting it with a barrage of flailing and kicking forelegs. His heart pounded when he realized she was moments away from being attacked when its surprise abated. Those claws would tear her apart.

His vision turned white with a blinding panic that turned his blood to fire. Before he knew it, before he understood it, he was on his feet and hefting the sword up with him. It felt light now, like he had held it all his life and knew just what to do.

He shifted his weight to one leg while swinging the sword up and around, letting the momentum carry him instead of trying to force it. When he was turning back toward the creature, he brought the blade down to slash it across the chest from shoulder to hip.

Black blood splattered against him, just as foul-smelling as the rest of the creature that slumped to the ground with a gargling cry.

Dhavi drew several ragged breaths, then looked over at Asvhalla. "Get behind me!"

She met his gaze with one of animalistic panic. There was little conscious thought behind her eyes; she saw her fawn and herd in danger, and instinct drove her to protect.

"Now!" he yelled, a well of unknown strength surging into his voice.

That forced her to obey, and he turned his attention back to the creatures invading camp. A few were headed his way to seize the opportunity of a lone elf. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and braced himself for the attack.

The wounds in his chest burned with every pound of his heart, the creature's black blood mingling with the red of his own. It felt like poison was slipping into his veins, the corners of his vision tunneling with a fuzzy darkness.

A clash of blades, his own against theirs, drew him back to the moment and an unintelligible war cry tore from his throat.

He would tear them down, in spite of the pain coursing through him.

"...Dha..."

He would protect his mother.

"...vi..."

He wouldn't lose her like he lost Hallain.

"...hal. Dhavihal."

Dhavi's eyes snapped open and he gasped for air as if it were his first breath. Pain racked his entire body and he reflexively curled into a ball, clutching at his burning chest.

Keeper Marethari looked down at him, a weariness in her eyes that lifted with a brief smile. "Welcome back."

His throat felt raw as he tried to speak.

"Save your energy; you are very weak." Marethari shook her head. "I am sure you have many questions. Let me assuage what most troubles you: your mother is fine. Duncan appeared just before we were overrun. That was two days ago; all is well now."

Dhavi could only furrow his brow in the unspoken question: Duncan?

"You will meet him soon. He is waiting to speak to you when you feel ready."

A soft sigh escaped the keeper as she withdrew from the tent, leaving Dhavi alone with his racing thoughts. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his chest sent him sprawling back on the bed.

His mother was fine. Tears pricked at his eyes and he didn't try to stop them. His mother was fine.


	5. Duncan

It was some time later that Dhavi found the strength to get up, and some time still after that when he could stand. He made his way out of the Keeper's aravel to discover the last thing he wanted to see in his camp.

A shemlen.

The human stood tall and broad, like most of his ilk. His dark skin had seen many days under the open sun, and his scars suggested much of that time had been in battle.

The sight of him wrenched his stomach tighter than any of those dreadful beasts that had invaded.

"Ah, there is our brave Dhavihal now," the Keeper said, her gaze meeting his. There was an unspoken demand of him to behave within her slightly narrowed eyes.

Dhavi drew himself to his full height, which unfortunately came up short when the shem turned to face him and closed the distance in just a few long strides.

"You are the halla keeper?" he asked as he glanced Dhavi over with an unreadable expression. "The one which slew the darkspawn?"

"If that's what you call creatures that kill my kin, then yes," Dhavi replied with no hidden contempt. "It seems a fitting name for beasts and shem alike."

Marethari stepped forward. "Dhavihal!"

The shem's brow raised and the faintest quirk of a smile disappeared into his full beard. "You do not know who I am."

Dhavi held his gaze. "Unwelcome, in my eyes."

"If you knew why I was here, perhaps you would see things differently." He folded his arms across his chest. The plate of the armor he wore glinted in the stray beams of sunlight that slipped through the foliage above. "I am Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I was brought here by the threat of darkspawn."

 _Duncan._ Dhavi glanced warily at the Keeper before returning his attention to the shem. "That was two days ago. Why are you still here?"

The steady gaze was returned, unwavering and determined. "You."

"Dhavihal," the Keeper interrupted before he could reply, stepping between them and putting a hand on his shoulder, "you were gravely wounded in the assault. Not merely upon your flesh, but in your blood."

Dhavi shrugged her hand off and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The Taint," Duncan said. "You have been infected with darkspawn blood and will succumb to it sooner or later." He glanced him over again. "By the pallor of your skin, I am afraid it will be sooner. There is not much time to waste."

"I don't understand." Dhavi took a step back and looked between them. The Keeper looked regretful, almost pained, even—this Duncan shemlen, however, had a solemn expression of little emotion. "What's going on?"

Marethari sighed and lowered her gaze to the ground. "You must go with Duncan, Dhavihal."

Never had a more ridiculous notion been presented to him. His mouth flapped uselessly for a while before he threw his hands in the air. "Go with this _shemlen_? If I'm sick, then heal me! Why must I go anywhere?"

In one seamless move, Duncan strode forward and grabbed Dhavi by the chin, jerking his head back and forcing their gazes to collide. "Do you remember the creatures you faced?"

Dhavi nodded as much as the tight grip on him would allow.

"You are infected with their Taint. The fact that you stand here before me now is a marvel, but the day will fast approach when you can no longer fight it. You will become that which you have slain in defense of your clan."

Duncan's eyes bored into his own. "Shall I cut you down before that day to spare us all the trouble, or will you make use of your strength and fight against that which sought to destroy you and all that you hold dear?"

That was when Dhavi realized he was trembling. Was it fear? Or weakness? Something was draining his strength fast, and the uncertainty of it all sent him into a moment of panic. He jerked his head out of Duncan's grip and fled in the only direction he knew was safe: toward his mother.

The gate was closed, but Dhavi was accustomed to simply pushing himself up and over the wooden logs. This time, however, he barely made it on the upward swing before his arms gave out and he simply fell forward, landing in a sprawled heap among the mud and grass.

Asvhalla hurried over, stopping short just out of reach. When he looked up at her, he saw something unfamiliar in her eyes: terror.

"Mamae?" Dhavi scrambled to stand, though he was uneven on his feet. "It's me. Your Dhavihal."

The name brought a moment of clarity to her eyes, but she backed away when he stepped forward.

"She can't see you past the Taint," Duncan's now unfortunately familiar voice rumbled from behind him. "It is an unnatural venom that nature cannot abide."

Dhavi's heart clenched in his chest as if the words had ripped it from him. The nurturing, caring gaze he had lived with all his life was gone. Those sun-kissed days lying in the clover seemed so distant as she backed away from him.

She bleated softly— _who are you?_

The pain jolted up the back of his neck and forced tears from his eyes, but he quickly wiped his palm over his face in a haphazard way that just smeared the dirt on his hands across his pale cheeks.

"This Taint," he said, keeping his back to Duncan. "You can get rid of it?"

There was a noticeable pause before the shem replied, "In a fashion. But it will require much of you."

Dhavi tried not to make a whimpering sound as he watched his mother place herself between the herd and him. He turned away from her and slipped through the fence posts, stopping in front of Duncan.

"And I have to go with you, the Keeper said. But for how long?"

Duncan's brow raised. "How long?" One hand raised to stroke his beard and he lifted his gaze to the sky. "Well, I suppose that depends."

Irritation sent Dhavi's fingers curling into fists. "On what?"

"On if you survive long enough to see the end of the Blight."

The words hung in the air with such thick meaning behind them that Dhavi could hear the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. His mouth flapped open a few times, but no words would form.

Duncan pulled his hand away from his beard and set it on Dhavi's shoulder to give a small attempt at a reassuring squeeze. "You will have many questions, and I will answer them, but we must leave now. There is much ground to cover and little time."

Without another word, Duncan turned around and walked away with a purpose that seemed more important than anything else, more than Dhavi or the Sabrae clan that looked on with confusion and concern. And perhaps it was.

All Dhavi wanted to do was to run into the woods and find a safe place to hide. Perhaps if he ate every herb in sight, it would clear this gods awful Taint.

"You have a great path before you," Keeper Marethari said, walking up to stand beside him. "The Gray Wardens carry a heavy burden on their shoulders." Her gaze drifted from Duncan's retreating form to meet Dhavi's. "Many times, you have complained that you do not fit in with the clan. I wonder if it was because all along, you were destined for something greater."

Dhavi chewed on the inside of his cheek. He felt the weight of all the elves staring; they all knew he was sick, knew he was leaving. Behind him, he knew his mother was trying to protect the herd from him.

There was no place for him here anymore—not while he was Tainted.

"I never asked for this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Keeper smiled, though her eyes held no mirth. "No one ever does."


	6. Ostagar

"Where are we going?" Dhavi blurted into the silence that had carried them through the Brecillian Forest, far from his clan.

He watched as the muscles of Duncan's neck tightened briefly before the man regarded him with a sidelong glance. "To Ostagar."

Dhavi's brow knitted. He looked away to examine the woods around them: the trees of old that watched them pass without shedding a single leaf of concern, the saplings that faced hundreds of years ahead with little notice of the moment he walked past, and the shadows that lurked between them all.

"Where are we going, _exactly?_ " The question felt bitter on his tongue, because he knew: Ostagar would be some sort of shemlen settlement.

Duncan breathed in and released a sigh. He answered in a slow voice that droned just above the crunch of leaves beneath their boots, as even and steady as their footsteps.

"Ostagar was once a fortress during the time of the Tevinter Imperium. Now, it is where King Cailan and his army fight the darkspawn, and where the Gray Wardens must be. There will be many humans there, so I suggest you make peace with your past."

A wave of anger roiled up from the pit of Dhavi's stomach and he stopped in his tracks, but Duncan continued on.

"Whatever ill will you carry is not for me, my men, or the King's men. Leave it behind. There is no place for it within the Wardens."

Dhavi could have lunged at him. He certainly wanted to. But the wave of fury was replaced by a sudden nausea, and he lurched forward instead. His hands planted against his thighs to brace himself as he retched something vile and black that splattered against the earthy tones of green and brown at his feet. The smell of it reminded him of them—the darkspawn.

There was a stillness, and he looked up to see through bleary eyes that Duncan had stopped and was gazing at him with an expression somewhere just shy of impassive and almost pitying.

"Hmm. The Taint is progressing faster than I anticipated. Come, then; we have less time than it seemed before." He retrieved a small waterskin from his belt that he tossed at Dhavi before resuming his purposeful march through the woods.

Dhavi fumbled with the skin, his hands trembling more than he wanted to acknowledge. The water did little to clear the foul taste from his mouth, but it was better than letting it sit on his tongue.

Though his legs felt weak and argued against every step, he forced himself to chase after Duncan lest he be left behind. At the sound of leaves crunching beneath leather boots, the man asked without looking back, "You called the halla your mother."

Tension shot from the back of Dhavi's neck and down to his fingertips. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "She is."

"Interesting. And how is it that a halla became mother to an elf?"

Dhavi clenched his jaw. Everything ached, but more than that, he was exhausted. Something heavy tugged at the inside of him and threatened to pull him down into the earth.

He released all of the dredges of his last effort to fight in a long sigh. There was nothing left within him except fatigue. "I was born abandoned. I don't know who my elven mother is, but Asvhalla took me in alongside my sist—"

Pain lanced through his chest and he dropped his head, mouth snapping shut. He felt Duncan's gaze on him, but no more words passed between them.

There was an unspoken understanding, and Dhavi was almost grateful for it. _Almost._

They continued on in relative silence. Dhavi succumbed to the nausea that clawed its way up his throat twice more before they crested the hill and a crumbling once-fortress came into view.

He had never before believed he would be relieved to see a human settlement.


	7. Alistair

"Goodness, you took quite a beating, didn't you?"

Dhavi could only grunt in reply to the old woman, whose attention was largely focused on channeling a healing spell into him. She had kind eyes and a compassionate voice that made it hard to hate her.

The magic spread across his chest and into his veins, a tingling warmth that verged on discomfort. When he winced, her eyes flicked up to meet his.

"It's pretty advanced, but this should stall it a while longer," she said over her shoulder to Duncan.

"Thank you, Wynne." Duncan nodded to her when she pulled back as if to leave. They exchanged a look that held some sort of unspoken disagreement, but Wynne relented with a sigh and a shake of her head.

She turned back to Dhavi, smiling again. "Under normal circumstances, I would suggest you rest. But there is nothing normal about the Taint." The wrinkles around her eyes faded as her smile lost its sincerity and almost seemed pitying. "I wish you luck."

The muscles of Dhavi's shoulders tensed, but he bit his tongue before he could reply. He waited until she was gone to ask without looking up at Duncan, "What now?"

"Now, Dhavihal, you seek out Alistair. He will guide you on becoming a Warden, along with your fellow recruits." Duncan's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, perhaps unconsciously.

Dhavi sighed. "And where would he be?"

The smile on Duncan's lips was almost amused as his eyes flicked somewhere behind Dhavi. "You will know him when you meet him, I'm sure."

And just like that, Dhavi was left to fend for himself in a crumbling city that was crawling with humans. Whatever solace he had found in Wynne's gentle and compassionate manner was lost under the suffocating smells that filled his lungs.

Dirt. Sweat. Fire. Human. Animal. Metal. Cloth. And underneath it all, _death_ , black and cloying and nauseating.

He breathed out in a ragged cough that threatened to turn him into a hacking, trembling mess—but he was surrounded by humans, all of them watching him, so he held on to his dignity and pride.

As he walked without direction but feigned the gait of someone with a purpose, he wondered: how was he intended to find Alistair? Would he be wearing the same garb as Duncan?

After circling the perimeter of the keep's grounds, Dhavi quickly realized that no one dressed like Duncan. Most of the men appeared to be common soldiers of their human king's army, with an assortment of mercenaries here and there that mostly kept to themselves.

A burst of laughter off to Dhavi's right startled him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see a man clad in splintmail, sitting on a stone block and grinning as if there weren't a war going on.

"No offense," the man said, and Dhavi was already offended. "But I would have thought someone of, ah, your kind? Is that rude to say? Well, I've already said it, so I might as well finish saying that I would have thought someone of your kind would be more skilled at tracking."

Dhavi hoped this man wasn't Alistair.

"I'm Alistair," he unfortunately continued. "And I believe you've been looking for me." He gave a short-clipped laugh. "Well, I _know_ you're looking for me, but that sounds a little too pretentious."

Though Dhavi hadn't had the displeasure of meeting many people from outside his clan, he knew he would never hate someone so quickly as he did this man. Everything about him screamed a life born into privilege, from his clean blonde hair to the sparkle in his hazel eyes.

Dhavi sighed and shifted his weight to one side, his hip canted slightly. "And you decided to wait until now to introduce yourself, why?"

Alistair's cheeky grin made him even easier to despise. "I was standing right behind you, actually. But you just walked off and, well, to be honest?" His shoulders rose and fell in a carefree shrug. "I was curious to see how long it would take."

"I see. Well, I hope you've had your fun." Dhavi glanced around the camp full of too many humans. "Whatever it is that must be done, I would prefer it be soon."

The nausea was already settling against the pit of his stomach like a black, oily viper just waiting to strike. Dhavi wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and endure this suffering in peace, but his goal was to be cured so he could escape back to the safety of his clan.

He didn't know the Gray Wardens, nor did he care. This war had nothing to do with him.

Or, at least, that was what he tried to force himself to believe, but Alistair was midway through a rambling explanation of something when Dhavi realized something deep in his bones: Alistair reminded him of Tamlen.

Tamlen, who had tried to become friends for all their years.

Who had invited him to go hunting.

Who had instead gone alone.

Who had never come back.

Who never would come back.

Alistair's words were lost under a torrent of guilt that crashed over Dhavi and stole his breath. The dark, vile, wretched _thing_ that now lived inside him, this Taint, coiled around his regret and gorged itself on the black emotions.

Before he knew the man had left, Alistair was running up with a damp cloth that he set on the back of Dhavi's neck. That was when he realized he was doubled over and struggling to breathe.

"Steady, Dhavihal, steady. You're all right." Alistair's voice had lost that selfsure tone and was now soft, comforting, and—worried.

It was enough to draw Dhavi back to the moment, and he looked up at Alistair with a furrowed brow. "How do you know my name?"

That light grin returned, but there was still concern in his eyes. "As I said, I was right behind you when Duncan told you to find me."

Dhavi wanted to hate him again, but he felt too tired to summon the energy for it. Instead, he just sighed and straightened up. "He also told me you would begin my Warden training."

"Ah, yes! That! Yes, let's find the other recruits and we'll set out on your first task as a Warden-to-be." Alistair looked over at one of the gates that led out into the wilds beyond the walls. "All you have to do is collect some darkspawn blood."

Darkspawn. The very mention of the word set his skin on fire and his blood frozen at the same time. His expression must have betrayed him again, because Alistair grinned and clapped him on the back. "Don't worry! Everything is going to be _fine_."


	8. Responsibility

_Everything is far from fine._

_I don't want to worry you, Mamae, but I have no idea what I'm doing. One day, I'm with you, safe in our forest. Now I am to lead a group of people who have so little in common that right now, as I write this, they fight._

_I'm charged with treason, hunted for a bounty placed on my head by the true traitor to the kingdom that is not my own. I want nothing to do with any of this, but I don't have a choice anymore._

_I lost the freedom to have choices the moment I left your side._

"Whoa," Alistair said, his voice too close to Dhavi's ear. He was crouched down beside him to look over his shoulder; Dhavi had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed his approach. "What language is that?"

The witch, Morrigan, gave a derisive sniff from Dhavi's other side. "Mother taught me the tongues of all sapient creatures." Her dark lips quirked in a humorless smile. "'Tis not a language of man nor beast."

Dhavi sighed and snapped the journal shut. "It—It's not a tongue, or a language."

Alistair blinked, his head cocking to the side, giving him an uncanny resemblance to the mabari hound that was presently standing guard just at the edge of the campfire. "But you were writing it."

Irritation coiled in Dhavi's stomach as he stared into the encroaching darkness. "It—" The feeling twisted into embarrassment, and he lowered his gaze as he muttered, "It's not a real language."

Morrigan laughed behind a curled hand. "Pray tell, then, what is it you were doing? Playing pretend? Hoping we wouldn't notice?"

"I don't know how to read or write," Dhavi snapped, more like a petulant child than he would have liked. "I just write how it sounds in my head."

Silence held the camp for several beats. Alistair remained crouched where he was, the hound didn't move from his position, Morrigan's hand was frozen in front of her mouth, and Sten stared into the fire with his usual lack of interest in the rest of the party's affairs.

"What does my name look like?" Alistair blurted out, a grin plastered on his face.

Dhavi glanced at him. "What?"

Alistair waved his hand in a vague gesture at the journal. "I want to see my name!"

"For what purpose?" Dhavi's grip tightened on the leather binding.

"I'm curious!" Alistair batted his lashes. "Come on, show me? Please?"

With a frustrated sigh to cover up the embarrassment that still raged in his chest, Dhavi slumped back down onto the log and turned the journal to an empty page.

Alistair watched with wide eyes that followed the movements of Dhavi's quill, around and up and down until the lines that formed the sound of Alistair's name were written out.

"Truly a marvel to watch simple minds at work," Morrigan commented with a playful lilt to her voice.

Alistair raised a silencing hand in her general direction, his attention largely devoted to his own name in Dhavi's script. "Now write her name."

"What?" Dhavi and Morrigan asked together, staring at him in equal measures of confusion.

"Go on, just do it." Alistair looked between the page and the quill.

Dhavi sighed again and hunched his shoulders under the weight of Morrigan's piqued scrutiny. "Fine," he muttered, dipped the quill's tip in ink, and drew it across the paper.

When he finished, Alistair jabbed a finger at Morrigan. "Hah! My name looks better than yours!"

"Excuse me?" Morrigan knit her brow together and leaned over for a closer inspection. "I would disagree. Mine contains far more curves." She smirked down at him. "Curves do make a lady, after all."

Alistair paused to consider this before he stood up, arms crossed over his chest. "Yes, well, mine is sharper. And in battle, sharper wins over curves."

"Would you like to test your theory?" Morrigan stepped toward him and inclined her head.

From the campfire, Sten stood abruptly, his shadow covering all three of them. His eyes glinted in the light of the dancing flames, a cold anger in them that froze the others where they were.

"I will sleep the first shift, since you would all seem to prefer to keep the darkspawn at bay with childish antics. I expect to be awoken by your screams as they tear your curves and sharp lines from your limbs."

They remained perfectly still and silent as Sten trudged across the camp and over to his tent. As soon as the flaps were closed, Alistair muttered, "Never let it be said the qunari have a sense of humor."

Morrigan made a sound in the back of her throat and swept past them toward her veritable tent, a lean-to set against a gnarled tree. "Perhaps, but neither let it be said that he is wrong. I leave the first watch to the two of you."

For a while, the only sound that broke the still air was the quiet crackle of flames against wood. Alistair's hands fidgeted, fingers dancing over knuckles, and Dhavi watched them in silence.

"What's on your mind?" Alistair finally asked, not looking up from whatever his gaze was fixed on.

Dhavi jolted, each muscle along his neck and shoulders going tense at the question. "What?"

Alistair glanced at the journal still in Dhavi's lap, then up at him. "You seemed to be writing a lot. At least, it looked like a lot." His lips quirked into a wry smile. "You can talk to me, you know."

"Can I?" Dhavi asked, more to himself. "What can you understand?"

With a thoughtful hum, Alistair lifted his gaze to the sky. "I know you didn't ask for any of this. The Wardens. The darkspawn. The war."

Dhavi snorted. "Did anyone?"

"Loghain," Alistair practically spat. There was such venom in a single word that Dhavi recoiled. "And he'll get exactly what he asked for in the end."

"That much we can agree on." Dhavi ran his thumb along the spine of his journal, each crack and crease of the leather scraping against his skin. He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "I want to go back."

Alistair looked at him with open surprise. "Go back? To where?"

"Not where." Dhavi raised a hand to gesture vaguely around them. "I want to go back to before all of this. If I had made different choices, perhaps—“

“There would be no stopping the darkspawn,” Alistair interrupted, clasping his hands together and returning his gaze to the darkness that clawed at the fire’s flickering light. “I can’t speak for you, but I at least find peace in being in a position to something about it.”

Dhavi couldn’t agree. He wouldn’t. There was no peace in having helped the refugees in Lothering only to return the next day to find nothing but ash and blood. There was no peace in knowing that his enemy had no compassion, no remorse.

There was no peace in not knowing where his clan was, or if his mother was still alive.

“I want to go back,” Dhavi said, clenching his fingers tight around his journal. “I miss my—my clan.”

Alistair reached out a hand to clasp it over one of Dhavi’s. “I know it’s not quite the same, but we have a little bit of a clan, don’t we? A family, even. Sten, the grumpy brother, and Morrigan, our sassy sister.” An attempt at a grin spread across his boyish features. “And me, your favorite big brother.”

Dhavi stared up at him, swallowing the laugh that threatened to break his composure. “You presume too much. Were this my family, Sir Barks would be my favorite.”

At the mention of his name, the mabari hound remained true to it and barked.

Alistair, surprisingly, smiled wide and squeezed Dhavi’s hand. “Ah! But you at least concede that I’m your big brother!” His hand moved away so he could clap his thighs before standing. “And as your big brother, I shall take my fraternal privilege and leave the rest of the first watch to you.”

Dhavi crossed his arms over his chest and raised one brow. “Shouldn’t the elder sibling take responsibility for the younger? What if something happens to me?”

The vision of blood flashed before his eyes and his throat closed up. White fur stained red, eyes frozen in lifeless desperation.

In an instant, he had lost her. It had been his responsibility to protect her and he had failed. The phantom pain of a blade lodged between his ribs throbbed, and his body began to grow cold.

He didn’t want to die. He should have died. He deserved to die, but he didn’t want to.

“Dhavihal?” a voice called, distant but filled with some emotion. Concern?

That was when Dhavi realized there were hands on him. Hands rough from war and killing. Shem hands. His whole body went rigid as he shoved them away, a scream trapped in his throat.

When the blood cleared from his vision, Alistair was kneeling in front of him, an odd look of understanding on his face. “It’s me, calm down. It will pass, just breathe. Breathe.”

Though the cold air felt sharp against his lungs, Dhavi forced himself to gulp it down. “What—“

“It’s a damnable effect of the darkspawn blood,” Alistair explained. “You see visions of them. Through their eyes.”

Dhavi looked down to see his journal had fallen to the ground and quickly snatched it up with trembling hands. “Yes, the darkspawn,” he lied, the words heavy and slow.

Alistair offered a smile that brought him no comfort. “Go to your tent. I’ll take the first watch. Responsibility and all that.”

Without another word, Dhavi rose from his spot and stumbled over his feet on the way to his tent. As he lay down on his bedroll and was engulfed in the deafening silence, he cried alone.


End file.
